Sword Play
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: (Tumblr Prompt) When the Doctor asks the Vikings about fighting with swords and Clara raises her hand. And basically I want a fic where Clara fights people with a sword, and the Doctor got that face 'cause he's remembering and he thought it was awesome/hot or something!


The Doctor glanced around at the room, all of the terrified faces – with just a few determined ones in the mix, because there always were – and he asked, "Okay, tell me this. How many people here have actually held a sword in battle? By a show of hands?"

It's was as he expected, nary a finger twitched to move from the anxious laps they rested on as his body did a turn to examine the Viking farmers there, ready to look upon Ashildr's saddened eyes and slumped shoulders. An unspoken 'I told you so' in his glance before they entered their trials. But then he saw Clara's hand, sitting calmly in the air. Confidently, he might say, as his brow rose slightly in surprise.

He considered the way her body sat lax, already accustomed to the ridiculous nature of the situation, and he questioned her without words, " _Really? You? A sword? In battle_?"

And her silent response came with a shrug, " _Of course, Doctor, I travel with you_."

Retreating into the solace of his mind, he quickly catalogued all of their adventures, an inaudible groan of frustration rattling his thoughts because the list had grown so very much. When did it become so much time? The Doctor flipped through those memories like pages in a book and then he found it. He found a few instances. How had he forgotten?

He saw the clash of her blade against an oncoming soldier and the way she'd quickly ducked down to crawl swiftly between his legs to rush towards a building behind him. Get inside, he remembered, just press the button on a device, and all of the soldiers would de-activate. Autons, the Doctor remembered, she'd fought an Auton with a sword. One who turned in confusion and had lifted up his hand, fingers dropping away from their palm to reveal a gun he fired at the armor hanging off her back.

The Doctor leapt from that memory of her shocked shout, and how she'd managed to make it into that building anyways, to another battlefield. Or rather, a room held up by ivory columns in which he'd been arguing with a sparsely robed king over a jewel in his possession that powered a device that gave him mind control abilities. Clara had been behind the bare-chested man, trying to sneak past guards – because she was like a hobbit, the Doctor had stated, a hobbit burglar like Bilbo – until all hell broke loose.

And then were was that time in the Tardis when she'd entered with a grin on her face and a bag in her hands, looking up at him as though she'd brought him something special. He'd been reluctant to ask, because he knew she'd wanted him to ask and that notion frightened him just a bit, and he finally twisted towards her when her giggles became too much, turning away from the console to scowl at her and raise a hand to gesture.

"What's in the bag – _you obviously want me to wonder_ , might as well tell me," he'd grunted, secretly curious and eager to know.

Clara's grin had grown, caving in that dot of space on her left cheek he found – for some strange reason – oddly alluring and she'd offered the bag to him, body swaying slightly as she'd told him, "Earth tradition – everyone has to choose whether to be Jedi or Sith in battle."

For a moment he'd stood there, dumbfounded, trying to remember what sort of Earth tradition would require such a thing and when such a tradition might have unfolded, and why he couldn't remember what it entailed, and then some bit of nostalgia crept in. He'd taken the bag and reached in quickly; yanking out a packaged plastic tube that had rattled slightly in his grasp – its inner workings noisily bouncing about – and he'd examined it a moment before he'd begun to laugh lightly.

"Lightsabers," he'd stated, listening to her give an excited giggle before she'd pulled the bag out of his grasp to remove the second, tossing the bag aside before beginning to work off the cardboard packaging as he unworked his carefully, looking over the greys and blacks of the hilt and touching the red bits at either side of the handle.

Clara had stepped closer to him, holding her the blue saber lightly in her grasp as she'd asked, "You _must_ know Star Wars, Doctor."

He'd grinned readily, offering, "I was there for the premiers, a few times, in different incarnations – dangerous dealings, but entirely worth the risk."

Clara only giggled more, then tapped his Lightsaber with her own, questioning, "That your choice then? Dark side, joining the Knights of Ren?"

Head toggling, he'd finally let it settle on a right tilt, watching her as she swung the blue saber out at her side to unleash the plastic 'laser' bits before she 'd clicked the light on, telling her softly, "The choice of blade has never denoted one's decision to join the light or dark side – it's the choices the heart makes while wielding the weapon."

Staring at him a moment, she considered it, then lifted hers to tap at his saber, urging him to give it a swing to release its blade, and she told him, "You're a Jedi Master then. Deep in conscious thought. Existential crisis even, ready to teach a group of Padawans."

"Are you my Padawan?" He'd teased, pulling on each of the red sets of tubes until they were tightly and firmly extended, grinning at her when she took a step back and laughed.

"Perhaps," she'd countered lightly, "And perhaps, if the Lightsaber of choice does not the side make, then I defy you and I'll take the Skywalker blade back to the dark side."

He'd pointed, chuckling and lifting his saber when she'd moved to strike playfully, listening to their swords tap against each other, the thunks of plastic on plastic echoing lightly through the hollow red and blue tubing. "You'd never succumb to the dark side," he'd stated confidently. "Not entirely anyways, and never for long."

"Yeah?" Clara'd asked on a nod of her head, blade coming up with he swung his down slowly. "You have no idea what I wanted to do to that R2-D2 droid when I was a kid." She'd shivered, "For some reason he scared me."

"Technology that shrieks wildly at random, and then beeps sarcastically at his best friend," the Doctor had explained with a shrug, "I can understand the aversion."

He could still recall how her Lightsaber tip had fallen, clunking against the metal flooring beside the console as she laughed. There'd been no reason, he considered, for the laughter, and she'd merely waved a hand when he'd asked, telling him quietly, "That is not the answer you are looking for," until he'd succumbed to the feigned mind trick and stabbed at her with his Lightsaber.

Their fight hadn't lasted long, their laughter tapering off quickly when the Tardis had been lurched in a new direction, caught in some sort of tracking beam, but the Doctor could still remember the way her eyes glistened with the beginnings of tears of joy. It was very much more enjoyable than the crying from some unknown after the Auton attack, or the frustration after being mind-controlled into jumping into a frigid lake in only the light wrap of a gown she'd worn in that king's castle.

He blinked, watching that hint of a smile on her face, wondering if she were lost in those same memories in that moment, before he turned to continue his speech to the Vikings around him. He knew it would be a hard won battle and he made a note to go in search of those Lightsabers once they were done here, prod her to continue the war they'd waged in laughter on that console – the time travelling knights of the Tardis.


End file.
